


candyman (good clean fun)

by arcanawildcard, clairelutra



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Character Study, Drabble Collection, F/M, M/M, Relationship Study, more kinks than its worth tagging, slutkira: like shakira but more willing to help his cat get off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 07:09:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19458952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanawildcard/pseuds/arcanawildcard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairelutra/pseuds/clairelutra
Summary: In which Akira fucks his confidants. All of them.Yes, all of them.Yes,all of them.





	candyman (good clean fun)

**Author's Note:**

> ngl this fic exists because i _wanted_ to do a set of nsfw character studies for the PTs, but then realized that 'the PTs' involved morgana and it can't get much weirder than that, so why not go all out? and thus, this was born
> 
> shinya is aged up (to 16), lavenza is left ambiguous, #itsnotbestialityifthecatcanconsent, there's one dream sequence that involves the sleep paralysis version of 'dubcon' if you're sensitive to that, aaaand all of these (sans shinya and sojiro) take place within the game timeline. fair warning.

In the grand scope of life, Akira wasn't a touchy person. It wasn't that physical contact felt _bad_ so much as he just didn't have much use for it. His space was his own, and he liked it like that.

And then his arm grazed Ann's as they exited the classroom together one day, and Pixie _zapped_ in his mind, cool static tingles skittering around his extremities and heat pooling in his gut and—

Then Agathion did the same thing with Ryuji and Jack-o'-Lantern with Morgana and—

The Velvet Room inhabitants, when questioned, said that that was just one of the effects of matching Arcana, and he shouldn't worry about it too much, just focus on his rehabilitation.

Suddenly, he found himself with a hell of an incentive to get touchy.

* * *

If Akira wants to have sex with Yusuke, Yusuke needs to be blindfolded.

It's not a kink thing. It's just a necessity.

Letting him go _un_ blindfolded means that at some point, _invariably,_ Yusuke is going to reach for his sketchbook, and sex will be cancelled for the time being, regardless of circumstances or progress. Being told to stop when he's right on the edge just for Yusuke to start sketching a thought that came to mind is a special kind of awful that he has no desire to repeat.

It repeats a few times anyway before he's frustrated enough to blindfold him, and things get easier from there on out.

Which, of course, is when he learns Yusuke actually has a thing for edging.

And feathers.

And temperature play.

And object insertion.

And sounding.

And—well, actually, if it's an unusual physical sensation, Yusuke is likely very interested in it.

Akira... spends a lot of time looking stuff up on the internet.

* * *

Makoto has a thing for semi-public sex.

A key component of 'good girl gone bad,' but he suspects it was a thing even before she got her Persona, because it takes about three minutes of making out in the arcade bathroom for her to start soaking through her leggings.

She's _loud,_ too, and he can feel her quiver and clench every time he gives her something to bite to muffle her noises. The closer to they are to getting caught, the more turned on she gets. Doing it behind a locked door never gets to her nearly as much as sucking him off in the back of the library after hours or riding him on her living room couch.

It's not so much that her kinks are inventive (Yusuke has that market cornered) so much as they're _intense._ By the time she's pulling him into a school closet with a lubed plug in her ass and a condom in her pocket, he _really_ has to give her props.

This is way more than what he was expecting from someone who doesn't know what a doujinshi is.

* * *

Sex with Ann never quite _stops_ feeling like making love, no matter the circumstances or the positions or the pace.

And that's all she wants; kisses and kisses, laughter and attention and affection. It doesn't matter to her if it's fast or slow, rough or sweet, simple or involved—as long as he cares and listens and _adores_ and accepts that from her in return, it's all good.

The Lovers card symbolize hard choices, a crossroads, deciding between what you lose and what you gain, but this choice doesn't even feel like a choice at all. You love Ann Takamaki, or you love Ann Takamaki. That's just the way life works.

* * *

Futaba, oddly, just seems to like sucking him off.

He's definitely not _complaining,_ but the interest she takes in it seems to go beyond just wanting him to feel good. She learns how to make him lose it so fast he'd think she was getting lessons somewhere if his dick wasn't involved in the entirely of her learning process.

It might have something to do with the fact that she completely falls apart at the slightest attention he gives her—not even Yuuki or Ryuji have ever come quite as fast or hard as Futaba under kisses and fingers (and sometimes even kisses alone do it for her). Long months of sensory deprivation left her with a hair trigger, but it doesn't pull when their only points of contact are her hands spreading his thighs and his cock halfway down her throat.

When she's done with him, she's a manageable shade of aroused and he's too out of it to work her up further, and they meet in the middle.

After that, it's fingers, then eating out. Penetrative sex is rare—which is a shame, considering how _pretty_ she is when she lets him wreck her like that—but he can't say he doesn't understand. Sensory overload is a bitch.

In the same vein, immediate post-coital cuddling is almost always a no, but next-day cuddling is always a must.

She jokes about him writing a 'Care and Keeping of Futaba Sakura' manual, and he kisses the top of her head and thinks about it.

* * *

Akira manages to blow Ryuji exactly once before Ryuji tells him he can spread his pretty-boy legs for someone _the fuck_ else, because bros are _bros_ and _not hos._

Akira accepts his defeat with grace and keeps his sex life out of Ryuji's pants... but not out of his line of sight.

Offer's always open, after all.

(And, no lie, it gets funnier and funnier the more done Ryuji gets.)

* * *

It's more out of curiosity than anything else that he suggests it to Yuuki, but Yuuki warms up to the idea fast enough to give him whiplash.

Figuring out Yuuki's kinks is the real adventure—not because Yuuki is picky (he's not), but because it's hard to tell what'll carry beyond the bedroom (or gym storage room, or hotel room, as it were).

The thing is, Yuuki likes _praise._

Akira is not in the habit of praising Yuuki.

Akira is very aware that Yuuki's self-esteem and self-worth are fragile enough that only praising him during sex (or only praising him after they start having sex) will cause much more damage than it's worth.

Thus, degradation.

Degradation phrased carefully enough that the praise is implied, and praise phrased carefully enough that it implies degradation.

Telling him what a beautiful cocksleeve he makes. Whispering, _I just think it's fun making a mess of you,_ in his ear. Rumbling approval when he makes a particularly embarrassing noise.

Pulling Yuuki's hair and fucking him rough and sloppy. Leaving him marks—hickeys placed high enough that Yuuki will be grateful for Shujin's turtleneck uniform and scarlet scratches left on his back. Not stopping even after Yuuki's come, ploughing through his hisses and whines of discomfort.

(Listening, listening, listening for the signs that he's on the edge of going too far, doing his best to walk the fine line of making Yuuki feel _used_ without crossing over into actual abuse. He's still trying to figure out how to bring safewords into the equation in a way Yuuki would use them, just so he can relax a little.)

Comments about the Phansite are out, as is implying that sex is _all_ Yuuki's good for. Cleaning him up afterwards is a no-go, but relaxed smiles and silent kisses as he fingercombs Yuuki's hair are easy enough to pass off as effects of the afterglow. _Telling_ Yuuki he did good would cross that line, but showing it in stretches and purrs and smirks the next day at school is very, very important.

When it comes down to it, sex with Yuuki is _way_ more work than he signed up for.

(But worth it. So, so, _so_ worth it.)

* * *

Ichiko uses sex for stress relief.

When he ends up in her bed, she's usually sloshed, half-frantic and more than half numb, guilty and demanding. She wants it hard enough to feel through the inebriation and tough enough that the effects will stick—doggy-style, her legs over his shoulders, anything that will give him leverage and depth. Trying to be nice just makes it worse.

By the third orgasm or so, the fight goes out of her, frustrated tears in the corners of her eyes, and that's about the point he knows to pull out and go get her water and aspirin.

Sometimes it ends there, but more often she pulls him back into bed, covering his mouth with clumsy, sloppy, wine-soaked apology kisses, divesting him of any clothes he might still be wearing and folding herself into his lap, stout thighs lotus-clamped around his hips and thin hands gripping his biceps tight.

(It's always strange to be reminded that she's physically smaller than him; not just shorter, but skinnier and softer, too. She's just so... _larger than life_ —right up until she's like this, and then it's downright disconcerting how tiny she feels in his arms.)

He's usually fucked her raw by that point, but she'll still slip him inside her and work him over the edge with grinding and kegels, her voice rasping and strained and _ashamed_ as she rests her head on his shoulder and murmurs, "I need another drink."

"You have me," he offers, and she barks out a sharp, jaded laugh, inner walls clamping with the noise.

"What, you want me to drink you?" The question is caustic, nails biting into his arms as she pushes him down.

Pinned to her bed, her pillow cool against the back of his neck, he rolls his hips up into her and says, "I think I could fill you up."

And her laugh is realer by shades. "That was fucking terrible," she replies, but when she ducks down to kiss him, the tension around her eyes is easing away, and she doesn't joke about needing a drink again.

She still ends up cursing quietly against his chest, splattering hot-cold droplets on his skin that have nothing to do with sex or sweat, but it's a vast improvement on the state she was in when he walked her home, so he'll chalk it up as a victory.

He doesn't know how to tell her it's okay, that it's an honor that she trusts him enough to fall apart on him, that if this is what he can do, then he's happy to do it—so he doesn't, but he stays until she falls asleep, even if that means facing a lecture from Morgana when he slinks into Leblanc just before the morning light.

* * *

Hifumi's just a dork.

The kind of dork that talks about _plundering pirate booty_ while she nails his ass with a strap-on and he bites the pillow in his efforts not to laugh so hard that she'll stop, his toes curling and his vision swimming stars with every thrust.

Makoto isn't the only one to start experimenting with her new freedom, but where Makoto's determined to wear her 'good girl gone bad' mantle to the end of the line, Hifumi, more than anything, just wants to have _fun._

Dress-up roleplay, dragons and castles and royalty, calling attacks like they're in some particularly exciting shounen manga—he figures out early on that he can get her try just about anything once if he phrases it right.

It's almost like being ten and playing pretend with the other kids on the playground, except with more orgasms.

...And more sacrilege, but hopefully God doesn't mind _too_ much when they spend their shogi break getting hot and heavy in the confessional. They're just... _getting to know each other,_ you know? Biblically.

Akira's sure that's what He would want.

(And it's definitely what Hifumi wants, so.)

* * *

Iwai is _rough._

In general, as a person, you can probably find his picture next to the dictionary definition of 'rough'.

He's rough when he rails Akira against the shelves of model parts in the backroom, rough when he digs his nails into Akira's ass and lifts him off the ground, rough as he makes the little baskets and cubbies in the wall rattle with how hard he's pounding him—

Rough, rough, rough—yet never cruel. He's almost comically excessive in prepping Akira's ass, given that Akira could probably take him cold with enough lube. Gruff as it is, he refuses to skimp on aftercare, never draws blood, treats Akira to dinner and makes excuses for it every time.

He doesn't like having any of that pointed out, so Akira doesn't. He _does_ like being insulted, though, so Akira does that instead.

He seems to get higher the longer Akira can keep up the stream of verbal abuse, the longer he can keep from losing his senses with how _good_ it is, the longer he can come up with _anything_ but how amazing Iwai's dick feels, fucked so silly he's drooling and slurring and moaning the degradation—the longer he can drag it out, the harder Iwai comes when Akira breaks.

He's never actually managed to keep it up right through his own orgasm, but, well...

Iwai sure makes it worth his while to keep trying.

* * *

Sex with Chihaya is one of the few things that actually make sense about Chihaya.

Bubbly, giggly, fumbling, eager kisses; she's clumsy, he's clumsy, she's _delighted_ with his dick but makes a lot of hilariously strange faces at actually taking it; he gets a firsthand taste of what it's like to have someone do a reality-altering seven-card tarot spread on his chest while riding him (kind of fwooshy and vertigo-inducing) and she gets a firsthand taste of someone finding her apartment such a disaster he just _has_ to clean it (she's adorably flummoxed and keeps trying to offer him novelty teas).

He stays for dinner and distracts her from making it, wondering how anyone managed to look at her and think 'monster' when she looks like _that_ babbling about destiny in her cute country accent as he pushes into her from behind, nailing her against what passes for her kitchen counter.

Not that they'd know, but she looks even more harmless _with_ clothes than she does without them, so.

* * *

Sadayo doesn't like sex, not really. She likes _petting,_ though, and sometimes that comes to the same thing.

Lap pillows with her fingers combing through his hair, her nails scratching lightly, _sensually_ over his scalp, don't often lead to anything more than that. It's... more motherly than anything, he thinks, even if he doesn't really have anything to compare it to.

Massages, oddly enough, almost never lead to anything more either. She's professional, he's in a hurry; the force of those massages, as effective as they are, is actually kind of a turn-off; they part ways to go about their lives.

It's only when that petting takes place when they're mostly horizontal that it develops beyond that.

When he's sprawled out on his futon and Sadayo's turned herself into a protective parentheses around him, that's when her petting starts to soothe his nape, his shoulders, his waist, the curve of his spine, back to the nape of his neck, pushing his hair out of his eyes, thumbing the space just above his nose where his glasses would rest, and back down. Her eyes never leave his bare face, but occasionally she ducks in for velveteen kisses that have him tingling all over.

The gentle warmth of her palm, the way his clothes move over his skin, the prickling goosebumps it leaves him with—it's _erotic_ in a way that isn't fully sexual. His body is all too happy to respond like it is, but he's grown used to ignoring the hot, heavy, electric pressure between his legs in favor of not interrupting her.

And often, she'll notice. Her wandering hand will slide far enough down that it'll skate over the tent in his jeans, fingers trailing teasing pressure alongside his erection. It's only then that she'll look away from his face, avoiding his eye as she undoes his zip and slips her hand into his underwear.

(There's... _something_ there in how practiced she is, the way she dodges anything more involved than petting and kisses and handjobs—things that let her set the pace, let her limit the intimacy. He doesn't think it's _entirely_ the student-teacher thing, and that keeps him from nudging for anything else. Hifumi's perfectly willing to indulge _that_ particular kink anyway; it's not worth risking Sadayo's discomfort by asking.)

It takes a while, but he stumbles on the fact that she also doesn't mind his head between her legs, either. It feels good to give back, especially when it leaves her looking as light as he feels after her massages.

School should probably be more awkward than it is, but he sees her the next day, smiling like she doesn't have a care in the world as she chats with Ms. Chouno and explains some finer point of grammar to a hapless student, and it's just... nice.

* * *

Morgana is an odd case, being in the body of a cat and all.

And not only that, but he seems to get the _feedback_ from Akira's odd relationship with personas; too much contact between the two of them almost always ends with Morgana rolling and drooling and Akira trying to deal with the fact that he's all hot and bothered over someone who looks like a _housecat._

It doesn't _fully_ stop him, but he never _quite_ gets over the weirdness of witnessing cat ejaculation.

(Not that it's not enjoyable. Whiskers and fur and damp noses against his dick aren't exactly sensations he can get from anyone else, nor Morgana rumbling with a purr against his lower stomach as he jerks off, tail swishing over sensitive skin; Morgana rolling in his lap like Akira is made of catnip, tight against Akira's groin, panting and chirping senseless noises as Akira scratches him behind the ears and rubs his chest; and...

Yeah, this is never going to get any less weird.)

* * *

He's mostly staring at Igor's nose because he's exhausted to the core and it's just the thing that's in his line of sight, but after about thirty seconds of that, Justine breaks the silence.

"Inmate... no."

 _No?_ he wonders, glancing down at her.

She looks _deeply_ perturbed. "We know of your... proclivities, but there are... limits."

"She _means_ keep your filthy pig hands off our master, _Inmate!"_

At which point he realizes that they think he's thinking about riding Igor's nose, which is quickly followed by the realization that it _is_ quite phallic.

Hm.

He tries to imagine how that would even _work_ and eventually comes to the conclusion that it would probably work a bit like teabagging, after which he starts to wonder if a nose (especially of that shape and length) has the structural integrity to penetrate an asshole, and then he's forced to also consider that he's technically locked in a prison cell, and Igor is on the other side of the bars, and, ergo, out of seduction-slash-fucking-slash-teabagging range.

He's tired enough that considering all of that takes a while, and when he reluctantly gives up the idea, Igor's unflappably permanent grin has shrunken a little, about as bemused as he can manage with a face like that. The nose in question looks a little unnerved.

Both Caroline and Justine are gaping in open horror.

Another moment or two of silence, and then Caroline squeaks, "I-I think it's high time you woke up, Inmate!"

"Q-Quite," says Justine, sounding almost identical to her twin for once, and then—

Akira wakes up.

* * *

It's nearing ten o'clock at night and he's sitting at the bar while Sojiro cleans when he brings up the subject.

Sojiro meets him with a very flat, "I don't do men."

Akira curls his shoulders and tilts his head in that way he knows emphasizes the curve of his neck and the softer lines of his face, slips the tip of his middle finger between his teeth with a sly half-smile, and dips his eyelashes—carefully nudging at all those little buttons he's been refining lately.

Sojiro stares at him for a few seconds, then turns away with, "...It still ain't worth the lawsuit, kid."

Akira is forced to concede.

* * *

He meets with a similar reaction from Toranosuke, but Toranosuke is much more fun to tease, so.

It's good practice, actually, seeing how far he can push without getting caught trying. Sojiro pointedly ignores him and Iwai never hesitates in dragging him into the backroom once Akira starts flirting, so Toranosuke and his slightly oblivious gentility make for a good sounding board.

It quickly becomes a game of figuring just how far he can get before Tora catches on—before emphasizing the dip between his shoulder blades and baring his nape and using that lilting, musical tone all stack up and Tora starts glaring at him.

(He brings a red lollipop into their meeting with Benzo to see how many times he can make Benzo forget what he's saying mid-sentence, and makes it all of five minutes before Tora reaches out and removes the candy from his grasp.

Killjoy.)

In the end, he only manages to sleep with Tora once throughout their whole association (biting the pillow and arching his spine and breathing high, breathy noises that never fail to trip Tora into thrusting harder), but that doesn't stop him from _trying,_ so.

("Him? _Really?!"_ Ryuji demands when he catches Akira at it. "Who next? _Boss?"_

"Don't worry, he said no," says Akira. He's not sulking. He's _not._ "Apparently I'm 'not worth the lawsuit.'"

Sulking or not, Ryuji's explosive, "Oh, _come on!"_ makes everything better.)

* * *

The day the twins give him the double bookmark, he falls asleep studying it, the tails woven in his fingers as consciousness slips through the cracks—

—and then comes flooding back.

He's lying on his back, the tangled tails stiff as iron where they dig into his hands, and there's... _someone_ sitting on his stomach.

Pale skin and pale hair, lithe and small, two golden eyes cutting through the moonlight and the impression of butterfly wings behind... her. It's a her, he thinks.

She's naked, small hands roaming up his torso as she leans over and curtains them into privacy with supernaturally silky locks.

She says... something, nonsense words filtering through his brain in a hauntingly familiar tinkling cadence, and then she kisses him.

It doesn't taste human. It tastes like water and starlight and static, and it's every sensation any persona's ever given him multiplied tenfold.

The result is strange: an aesthetic appreciation of the taste and feeling, like a foreign delicacy or the newest flavor of soda in the vending machines, and the blood-boiling feeling of arousal spiking his system, all fire and lightning and tide and sleet with no in between and no emotion to bridge the gap.

The tangled tails keep him from shifting, locked around his hands like that, it's no wonder he can't move—

No, he thinks hazily as the girl lets him go and rocks back against his half-hard dick, her ephemeral butterfly wings fluttering behind her at the contact. This is sleep paralysis. A very strange version of sleep paralysis where he's about to get fucked by something with twenty-four carat eyes pretending to be human.

The details after that are blurred and heated and trippy—all that disconnected feedback squeezing his cock tight, cool and bloodless and _wet,_ that wetness on his lips as she sits on his face, inner folds featurelessly smooth and slick against his tongue.

He lasts much longer than he has any right to, swimming in the feeling but far and away from it all, and after he comes, she fades away like mist.

When he wakes up, it's to his alarm and morning light, the bookmark slipped from his fingers and Morgana asleep beside him.

There's no mess in his sweatpants. There's something on the lower half of his face that feels like dried slick and tastes like water. It's only with a clear head that he remembers where he's seen those gold eyes before.

He doesn't go to sleep touching the bookmark again.

* * *

Tae is _fun._

She was probably voted 'most likely to put her underage boyfriend in a collar' in some poll or other; it comes as exactly no surprise to Akira when she does just that.

She responds to the same things Iwai and Sojiro and Toranosuke do, too—softer lines, submissive body language, sweetness in his cocksure smiles—and she's all too happy to jump his bones whenever she damn feels like it.

It's the kind of relationship where she's purring about 'very _thorough_ checkups' and pulling him into her lap by the leash and he's spreading his legs over her thighs and baring his throat and not even trying to pretend his dick isn't twitching in his jeans as he asks her to be gentle.

There's always something of Joker that comes out to play with Tae, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't love it.

* * *

Goro is an entirely different kind of fun.

Mostly because the last time Akira was _actually_ a virgin, he was figuring it out with Ann, who was just as awkward and oblivious and eager to learn as he was, and then with Yusuke, who operated on such a different wavelength that Akira spent a lot of time researching the technicalities just for the sake of having common ground.

It's an entirely different experience to play coy and inexperienced and submissive to a much more experienced partner, letting Goro show him all new worlds while knowing without a doubt that this is the boy who's going to put a gun to his head and pull the trigger.

He passes the thrill off as nerves, ignores the judgemental looks his friends are shooting him, and pretends he's ashamed to find another guy attractive.

It works like a charm.

The sex itself is pretty vanilla, but the afterglow... now that's the interesting part.

Interesting and a little unnerving—watching Goro's smile go flat, the fake light in his eyes fade; to watch all that careful polish fall away to reveal something much smaller, something broken and tarnished and tired. He keeps it together until he finds release, and then all he's left with is... this.

It gives Akira pause sometimes, makes him wonder if this elaborate gambit is really the right course of action when Goro looks like nothing more than a wounded animal—

And then he remembers that the rest of the team is scouting Sae's Palace for the perfect way to keep this wounded animal from sinking his teeth into Akira's throat, and the unease eases.

(Goro strokes his cheek and asks in a perfectly pleasant voice what he's thinking about, and Akira leans into the touch and says that Goro is beautiful, just to see what will happen.

Goro plays lip service to the compliment while his eyes call Akira an idiot, and Akira wonders if he knows that anyone could see all the cracks in the facade.)

* * *

He doesn't have sex with Haru for the longest time because he's sort of afraid of breaking her.

Sure, she proves time and time again just how capable she is, but 'adept at hacking Shadows apart with an axe' does not necessarily translate into 'would find fulfillment in being pounded into a mattress.'

And, when he finally does take her to bed, he finds that she really doesn't.

She wants it gentler that that—so gentle it's _agony,_ his cock moving inside her only just enough to keep either of them from forgetting it, his mouth on her small breasts as she edges him until he _hurts._ She binds him to her rich-girl bed with broad ribbons but doesn't tie the knot, instead handing him the loose ends and smiling as she tells him that she'll stop if he lets go. She has him holding her from behind on the floor of her shower, balls-deep in her ass while she shaves her legs and talks to him about her cafe plans and he pants unsteadily into her neck.

He's pretty sure that in trying not to break her, _he's_ going to be the one that ends up broken.

He can't wait.

* * *

Shinya is ten.

Akira is willing to do a _lot_ of people, but not people who are ten years old.

Just... no.

(It's a different story when Shinya's no longer ten, when he's sixteen and crawling all over Akira's lap with limbs that don't quite gangle, a face that's both too old for him and not quite old enough, a daring spark in his eyes to match the unsteady grin.

"Aren't you gonna say I'm too young?" he taunts into Akira's mouth as he clumsily, shamelessly grinds their dicks together.

"I made worse decisions when I was sixteen," Akira replies drily, then catches his hips and slows the motion down, smooths it out into something sensual and rolling and heated, coaxing a whimper out of his old sensei's throat.

Shinya wants to bottom, surprisingly enough. He confesses to having thought about this before about halfway through, then comes before Akira's even getting started—only to beg him to keep going when he starts to pull out.

Akira stays in and covers him with his body, caging Shinya in with his arms and kissing his forehead until he calms down, listening, amused and touched, to him grumble about how he hates that he blew it when he's been waiting _so long_ for it, dammit, this isn't fair...

"Don't worry," he purrs, "Aniki can take care of you," then watches in bemusement as Shinya _shudders_ all over, his softening cock twitching and face reddening all the more.

Well then.

It's a good time—both the sex and the day out hitting up arcades, competing over Gun About and gorging themselves on street food, and they have a time and place to meet up again at the end of it.

It's a nice welcome back to Tokyo, all told.)

* * *

Sae is another person he only has sex with once.

She comes a few days after his 'death', ostensibly for a cup of coffee, but she slips up to the attic afterwards and lets him kiss her—emphasis on _lets._

She doesn't respond, doesn't draw away, barely even reacts, and when he stops, she's looking at him with a strange, almost _resigned_ melancholy.

"...You've forgotten, haven't you," she says. "You've forgotten how to connect with people without this."

He doesn't think she's quite _right,_ but he can't fully say she's _wrong,_ either. "...So that's a no?"

Her mouth pulls to the side in something that's not a smile. "It's an 'I shouldn't.'"

He can work with that.

"Then let me change your mind."

She's sensitive and inexperienced and _beautiful_ —creamy pale skin and creamy smooth curves, soft gasps at barely a touch, cheeks flushed as she refuses to look anywhere near his groin—and, somehow, it's everything he expected.

Kisses don't make her relax. Affection in general seems to make her shut down, and it's... strange to pull back and just _appreciate._ To suck on her breasts lap into her bellybutton and teethe at her skin, stroke her sides and thighs and stomach until she's warmed up enough for him to start fingering her, massaging her sex more than anything. It's strange not to have the awkward laughter and breathless negotiation and clumsy caresses of first times.

It's only towards the end of it, when both of them have come at least once and she's shifted into his lap and is starting to get the hang of riding him that she clutches him to her and captures his mouth in a fierce, guilty kiss, and suddenly, things make a bit more sense.

He eases her through it, because even if he's never dealt with this reaction in particular, he still understands how it works.

He cups her face and tells her she's beautiful and _means_ it with every ounce of his being—physically, aesthetically, when she's falling apart and pulling herself back together, the way her eyes gleam for having thrown herself into her passions so hard she forgot all else...

She dampens his palms with tears and drops her forehead against his, hiccups a laugh and tells him wryly that he's too pretty for his own good.

 _That_ she's probably right about.

She falls asleep in his futon with her head on his thigh and his fingers in her hair, and wakes up mellow in the morning, like she's been absolved of something.

He makes her that cup of coffee and sends her off with a smile and an open offer that he knows she'll never take him up on.

* * *

* * *

* * *

## CODA

* * *

Getting in Sojiro's pants takes about three years of concentrated effort better left undescribed.

Worth it? Absolutely.

More for the look on his face afterwards than the sex itself (though that's pretty good too), but, well.

Worth it.

* * *

He doesn't manage to fuck Igor (nose-riding or no) by Christmas, which leaves him in the awkward position of staring up at a giant gold cup that's sucking up the free will of the masses and wondering if 'mindfuck' counts.

 _Then_ the battle happens, and Akira decides that yes, he _did_ manage to _at least_ 'pierce' him with his 'gun,' and that that _totally counts,_ dammit.

When he says as much, his teammates all groan long and loud—except Ryuji.

Ryuji locates a newspaper, rolls it up, and hits Akira upside the head with it.

"Ow."

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. i wanted to have something done for akirann week but my plans got away from me and _fuck_ am i burned out. this was my decompression project between chapters of [Lovers Confidant: World Famous Model](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18586441), and will have to serve as my buffer.  
> 2\. according to [eritae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eirtae/pseuds/eirtae), 'slutty bisexual akira' is totally a genre i write, and i am _damn proud_ of that :D  
> 3\. THINGS THAT COME IN THREES... not these notes lmao. hope y'all are having a good one~♥


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